


In My Dreams

by jasmineisland



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasmineisland/pseuds/jasmineisland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for h/c  bingo on lj. <br/>Set after Everyone Loves A Clown – Sam had always had nightmares. What no one knew was they weren't just nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

[h/c bingo card](http://jasmineisland.livejournal.com/3483.html#cutid1)  


Prompt: Telepathic Trauma

Characters: Sam Dean

Warning: none

Word Count: 2413

Summary: Set after Everyone Loves A Clown – Sam had always had nightmares. What no one knew was they weren't just nightmares.  


The quiet of the yard was Sam’s cue that it was ‘safe’ to wander outside. Ever since Dean’s outburst with a crowbar, Sam had maintained a healthy distance from his brother. His need to talk about his feelings regarding their father’s death was just that. His need. Dean made that crystal clear and his older brother at least deserved some consideration for that. So every day he waited until Dean headed inside for a break before he ventured outside for some air that wasn’t so damn full of Bobby’s knowing glances and sympathy.

The car looked like a car again, a tribute to Dean’s dedication and talent, in Sam’s opinion. The trunk lid was off again and the trunk was empty, the space into the passenger compartment open. Dean had pulled the back seat and moved it into the garage for repairs. A small pile of what could be called ‘shit’ was next to the car. Apparently the years of living in the car had left a pile of it under the seat. Kicking the pile gently, Sam almost smiled at what he and/or his brother had lost or hidden in the recesses of the car. More green army men, a math book for 8th grade. Not recognizing it, Sam realized it must have been Dean’s. Some shirts, rags mostly torn or blood stained. The Blue Oyster Cult shirt Dean had used when Dad had lost the fight with the berserker in…….. Utah? Sam asked himself. He remembered the sound of the shirt ripping. He remembered Dean’s voice barking out orders for a 15 year old Sam to get the holy water and dental floss. John giving disjointed orders for what Dean was supposed to do in the event John bled out. _Leave me here, take your brother, and go._ Every detail in horrifying clarity, except where they were. Reaching down, he picked up the rag, which still had some of their father’s blood on it. Under the rag was a black composition notebook. In big black letters was ‘Sam 1995’. Slowly, Sam picked up the book and stared at it for a long minute. Memories flooded Sam’s mind and he almost stumbled to a junked truck to fall into the torn seat.

His nightmares had always been bad. All his life Dean had been the one to wake him by hugging him, but that year John had decided the boys were too old to sleep together unless economics demanded it. Unable to turn to his brother or father, Sam had turned to the internet to find out what he could do about his dreams. One of the things he’d found had been to keep a ‘dream journal’. So for a while, that’s what he’d done. But it hadn’t helped and his biggest fear next to hunting was Dean finding this and using it to torture him. So he’d stopped, and apparently hidden it in the recesses of the back seat.

The first page was dated June 1st. His writing was unfamiliar, and it took a few minutes for Sam to decipher it. A smile crossed his face when he read the dreams of his younger self. Something in the closet, beating on the door and trying to get out. Too much of Dad’sjournal and late night TV with Dean. Showing up in class for a test that he hadn’t known was coming.

“Jesus. No wonder Dad laughed and Dean called me Samantha if this is the shit that scared me.” He turned a few pages and read some more.

July 21, 1995

_This thing in a black robe is over me. I don’t know what it’s doing but I can’t move and I feel like it’s , tearing something out of me. Felt like it went on forever, and finally I hear Dad’s voice yelling something before a gun goes off and I wake up._

Sam stopped laughing. He knew now that it was the Shtriga. That was a memory trying to make itself known. And since he’d stopped telling Dean or Dad about his dreams by then, no one could tell him that it wasn’t just a product of his imagination. No one had ever mentioned the close call until Dad sent them the coordinates for Dean to finish the hunt.

Thinking about that hunt, Sam was actually glad he’d never told Dean about that dream. His older brother wasstill beating himself up over that one. He would have felt like that dream was his fault, too. Quickly he skimmed a few pages, finding nothing more than the ‘normal’ bad dreams. Exaggerated versions of memories that had sent him home crying, or altered memories of prior events in his short at that time life. Kids in a school laughing at him, losing a fight with a bully that he’d actually won. It did occur to him that the end of October, the nightmares had increased in frequency.

_October 28, 1995_

_Dad was hunting something in the woods. Not sure why I was there, since I’m not allowed to do anything but sit in the fucking car. But I could hear someone shouting that it was coming to be ready. Dad pulled up his gun and aimed. But everything happened really quick. Dad slipped on something the same time this big dog made a circle around him and came at him from behind. All I see before I wake up is this big black dog jump on Dad and start ripping him apart. Dad screams and I wake up._

Sam tried to fight a bad feeling this dream gave him. There had been a bad hunt with a black dog that had torn their father apart from behind. But Sam was 99% more sure then he wanted to be that the hunt was after the date on the journal. Dean had stitched Dad up before he brought him home. He’d always known that the hunt went worse than either of them had let on. Still desperately wanting to believe he had been dreaming of past events, he moved on.

_October 30, 1995_

_I dreamed about Coach Bieri last night. No idea why. Hadn’t even thought about him since we left Colorado. He was an asshole. Treated me and Dean like shit. Hated Dean because he wasn’t a team player and hated me because I wasn’t as good at sports as Dean was. But I still had this fucking dream. He was in his office, staring at me while I was in the shower. If that was what he wanted with me, I’m glad we only stayed in that town for three weeks. Really creepy. I knew he was creepy, just didn’t know he was a perv, too. Glad I left before I found out. Dean would have shot him if he’d touched me, and Dad would have been pissed at me for getting Dean in trouble. But this dream he’s staring at me through the window, but just before I wake up he turns to me- not the me in the shower, but the me that’s watching him in my dream. For a split second before I wake up, his eyes look really weird. Freaking yellow._

Now Sam’s heart actually felt like it stopped. Yellow eyes? Was there any way that asshole coach was actually possessed? Had he really dreamed about it? Just as he caught his breath Sam started to yell for Dean, but he stopped himself. This is the last thing Dean would want to deal with right now. Clutching the rag that he was still holding, he forced himself to turn the page and see what else was hiding in the book.

_November 1, 1995_

_Same freakin’ dream. A woman, long blonde hair, above me on the ceiling. She’s bleeding, it’s dripping down on me. Then there’s fire. The entire ceiling is burning. I’m trying to reach her, but I can’t. It’s really hot, and it sounds really loud. Then there’s a man. Really tall. Calling my name and pulling me away from her._

_*** Dad thinks I’m dreaming about what happened to Mom, I heard him tell Dean once, but I don’t think so. Dad’s not in the dream. I don’t know who the man that pulls on me, but he’s not Dad. He has short hair and no beard._

For almost a minute, Sam forgot to breathe. He suddenly realized that it had been the same dream he’d had days before Jessica had burned on the ceiling. At 12, he hadn’t recognized an adult Dean dragging him from the burning room. And as an adult, he’d always woken up before that part. Now, sitting in the truck reading the old book, it hit Sam so hard he tried to scream for Dean, but couldn’t seem to force enough air into his lungs for his voice to be much above a whisper. He’d dreamed of Jessica when he was 12. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold the book still enough to read the final few entries.

_November 2, 1995- not written until November 5_

_Dad’s threatening to kill me. I’m looking down on him, but I can’t move. He said something about a gun and me being psychic boy, whatever that means. I can’t see much else, it feels like I can’t move my head. Dad’s laughing at how scared I am, but he won’t look at me. I hear Dean begging Dad to not do it, to stop, but I’m not sure what’s happening since I can’t look. When Dad finally turns to me all I cansee is those same fucking yellow eyes I see in my other dreams._

_*** I’m not sure why the people in my dreams have yellow eyes. I’ve looked it up and can’t find anything. Everything I read says that stress in life can cause dreams to get worse and make you have more of them. Since this time of year sucks balls worse than any other time, that might be the reason. Dad pretty much stays drunk this week, and Dean takes off a lot more. When I woke up from that dream, nobody was home. My head was fucking pounding, so I didn’t write this down till now. Probably forgot some of it. Can’t think when I get these. I never seem to remember the actual dreams more than a day or two anymore. Dean finally came home at some point and got me some aspirin. Least he didn’t tease me because I was crying from my head hurting. If he hadn’t been so drunk he probably would have felt bad I was alone when it happened. But such is my fucking life._

_This isn’t fucking helping. Just what I already know. I have bad dreams. Waste of my fucking time._

That was the last entry in the dream log. But even if there were more entries, there was no way Sam could read them. His entire body was shaking and there were actually tears running down his face. If he’d known or had any idea that his visions had actually started when he was a child…. He still didn’t remember the dreams he’d had, but the fact that he’d actually written them down was proof that he’d had them. Sam knew that he’d had migraines periodically, but he’d never attributed them to dreams. Apparently no one else had, either. And the fact that they got worse when November 2 was coming up had a lotmore meaningthen his life ‘sucking balls’ or Dad and Dean disappearing.

“Fucking yellow eyes. I was dreaming about that son of a bitch when I was a kid.” The full implication hit him and he stood. Furious, he caught one of the cars Dean had beaten with the crow bar out of the corner of his eyes. Seemed like a good idea to him, too. One kick dented the door, another took out the one window Dean had missed. It felt like a good start, but it wasn’t enough. A few more kicks into the steel and Sam felt his tears finally slowing. His breath was coming in pants, but he still needed more. Before stopping to think about the end results his fist slammed through the window of a small car. The pain registered in some part of Sam’s mind and it seemed to slow down the thoughts that were flying through hismind. Another window, this time leaving blood on the steel door. Dean hadn’t left much glass in the immediate vicinity, so Sam moved down a row to more cars. A few more windows, a few more dents and he finally felt his head beginning to clear.

“Son-“ A door dented under his fist.

“Of-“ A window shattered.

“A Fucking bitch!” Another window followed by a round house kick to the offending door holding it.

Suddenly he was grabbed from behind and shoved into another car. “What the fuck, Sam?!”

“Back off, Dean!” Panting, Sam tried to pull away. “You don’t even want to fucking know.”

“No, I probably don’t, but a few more windows and I won’t be able to stitch you up.” The older brother pointed to the cut and bleeding arms on his younger brother. “You’re gonna pass out from blood loss, dumbass.”

“Good.” Sam pulled his fist back again, aiming for the window he was currently leaning against, but Dean was faster.

Gripping Sam’s arm, Dean spun him around he tried to hold him still.

“Let go of me!”

“So you can do more damage? Don’t think so, kiddo.” Sam continued to struggle, until Dean finally wrenched his arms up behind his back and pinned him. “Okay, Sam. Talk to me. What the fuck?”

The quiet voice in his ear finally reached him. Still panting, Sam shook his head. “Made your point, Dean. Last thing you want to do is talk.”

“No, the last thing I want to do is take you to ER. Which I’m going to have to do if you don’t stop.” Feeling Sam tense, Dean jerked him closer. “Enough, Sam. Stop.”

When Sam’s shoulders dropped and his head fell forward, Dean knew it was over for the moment. He released his brother and stepped back, ready to grab him again if the younger man started again.

Instead, Sam dropped to his knees.

  
  
This is continued in another prompt  
  
[Stay](http://jasmineisland.livejournal.com/4177.html)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This follows Telepathic Trauma, but can stand alone. Set S2 after Everyone Loves A Clown- The boys are having a hard time letting go of their father. A long forgotten secret from the past threatens to split them up permanently

[h/c bingo card](http://jasmineisland.livejournal.com/3483.html#cutid1)  


Prompt: Telepathic Trauma

Characters: Sam Dean

Warning: none

Word Count: 2413

Summary: Set after Everyone Loves A Clown – Sam had always had nightmares. What no one knew was they weren't just nightmares.  


The quiet of the yard was Sam’s cue that it was ‘safe’ to wander outside. Ever since Dean’s outburst with a crowbar, Sam had maintained a healthy distance from his brother. His need to talk about his feelings regarding their father’s death was just that. His need. Dean made that crystal clear and his older brother at least deserved some consideration for that. So every day he waited until Dean headed inside for a break before he ventured outside for some air that wasn’t so damn full of Bobby’s knowing glances and sympathy.

The car looked like a car again, a tribute to Dean’s dedication and talent, in Sam’s opinion. The trunk lid was off again and the trunk was empty, the space into the passenger compartment open. Dean had pulled the back seat and moved it into the garage for repairs. A small pile of what could be called ‘shit’ was next to the car. Apparently the years of living in the car had left a pile of it under the seat. Kicking the pile gently, Sam almost smiled at what he and/or his brother had lost or hidden in the recesses of the car. More green army men, a math book for 8th grade. Not recognizing it, Sam realized it must have been Dean’s. Some shirts, rags mostly torn or blood stained. The Blue Oyster Cult shirt Dean had used when Dad had lost the fight with the berserker in…….. Utah? Sam asked himself. He remembered the sound of the shirt ripping. He remembered Dean’s voice barking out orders for a 15 year old Sam to get the holy water and dental floss. John giving disjointed orders for what Dean was supposed to do in the event John bled out. _Leave me here, take your brother, and go._ Every detail in horrifying clarity, except where they were. Reaching down, he picked up the rag, which still had some of their father’s blood on it. Under the rag was a black composition notebook. In big black letters was ‘Sam 1995’. Slowly, Sam picked up the book and stared at it for a long minute. Memories flooded Sam’s mind and he almost stumbled to a junked truck to fall into the torn seat.

His nightmares had always been bad. All his life Dean had been the one to wake him by hugging him, but that year John had decided the boys were too old to sleep together unless economics demanded it. Unable to turn to his brother or father, Sam had turned to the internet to find out what he could do about his dreams. One of the things he’d found had been to keep a ‘dream journal’. So for a while, that’s what he’d done. But it hadn’t helped and his biggest fear next to hunting was Dean finding this and using it to torture him. So he’d stopped, and apparently hidden it in the recesses of the back seat.

The first page was dated June 1st. His writing was unfamiliar, and it took a few minutes for Sam to decipher it. A smile crossed his face when he read the dreams of his younger self. Something in the closet, beating on the door and trying to get out. Too much of Dad’sjournal and late night TV with Dean. Showing up in class for a test that he hadn’t known was coming.

“Jesus. No wonder Dad laughed and Dean called me Samantha if this is the shit that scared me.” He turned a few pages and read some more.

July 21, 1995

_This thing in a black robe is over me. I don’t know what it’s doing but I can’t move and I feel like it’s , tearing something out of me. Felt like it went on forever, and finally I hear Dad’s voice yelling something before a gun goes off and I wake up._

Sam stopped laughing. He knew now that it was the Shtriga. That was a memory trying to make itself known. And since he’d stopped telling Dean or Dad about his dreams by then, no one could tell him that it wasn’t just a product of his imagination. No one had ever mentioned the close call until Dad sent them the coordinates for Dean to finish the hunt.

Thinking about that hunt, Sam was actually glad he’d never told Dean about that dream. His older brother wasstill beating himself up over that one. He would have felt like that dream was his fault, too. Quickly he skimmed a few pages, finding nothing more than the ‘normal’ bad dreams. Exaggerated versions of memories that had sent him home crying, or altered memories of prior events in his short at that time life. Kids in a school laughing at him, losing a fight with a bully that he’d actually won. It did occur to him that the end of October, the nightmares had increased in frequency.

_October 28, 1995_

_Dad was hunting something in the woods. Not sure why I was there, since I’m not allowed to do anything but sit in the fucking car. But I could hear someone shouting that it was coming to be ready. Dad pulled up his gun and aimed. But everything happened really quick. Dad slipped on something the same time this big dog made a circle around him and came at him from behind. All I see before I wake up is this big black dog jump on Dad and start ripping him apart. Dad screams and I wake up._

Sam tried to fight a bad feeling this dream gave him. There had been a bad hunt with a black dog that had torn their father apart from behind. But Sam was 99% more sure then he wanted to be that the hunt was after the date on the journal. Dean had stitched Dad up before he brought him home. He’d always known that the hunt went worse than either of them had let on. Still desperately wanting to believe he had been dreaming of past events, he moved on.

_October 30, 1995_

_I dreamed about Coach Bieri last night. No idea why. Hadn’t even thought about him since we left Colorado. He was an asshole. Treated me and Dean like shit. Hated Dean because he wasn’t a team player and hated me because I wasn’t as good at sports as Dean was. But I still had this fucking dream. He was in his office, staring at me while I was in the shower. If that was what he wanted with me, I’m glad we only stayed in that town for three weeks. Really creepy. I knew he was creepy, just didn’t know he was a perv, too. Glad I left before I found out. Dean would have shot him if he’d touched me, and Dad would have been pissed at me for getting Dean in trouble. But this dream he’s staring at me through the window, but just before I wake up he turns to me- not the me in the shower, but the me that’s watching him in my dream. For a split second before I wake up, his eyes look really weird. Freaking yellow._

Now Sam’s heart actually felt like it stopped. Yellow eyes? Was there any way that asshole coach was actually possessed? Had he really dreamed about it? Just as he caught his breath Sam started to yell for Dean, but he stopped himself. This is the last thing Dean would want to deal with right now. Clutching the rag that he was still holding, he forced himself to turn the page and see what else was hiding in the book.

_November 1, 1995_

_Same freakin’ dream. A woman, long blonde hair, above me on the ceiling. She’s bleeding, it’s dripping down on me. Then there’s fire. The entire ceiling is burning. I’m trying to reach her, but I can’t. It’s really hot, and it sounds really loud. Then there’s a man. Really tall. Calling my name and pulling me away from her._

_*** Dad thinks I’m dreaming about what happened to Mom, I heard him tell Dean once, but I don’t think so. Dad’s not in the dream. I don’t know who the man that pulls on me, but he’s not Dad. He has short hair and no beard._

For almost a minute, Sam forgot to breathe. He suddenly realized that it had been the same dream he’d had days before Jessica had burned on the ceiling. At 12, he hadn’t recognized an adult Dean dragging him from the burning room. And as an adult, he’d always woken up before that part. Now, sitting in the truck reading the old book, it hit Sam so hard he tried to scream for Dean, but couldn’t seem to force enough air into his lungs for his voice to be much above a whisper. He’d dreamed of Jessica when he was 12. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold the book still enough to read the final few entries.

_November 2, 1995- not written until November 5_

_Dad’s threatening to kill me. I’m looking down on him, but I can’t move. He said something about a gun and me being psychic boy, whatever that means. I can’t see much else, it feels like I can’t move my head. Dad’s laughing at how scared I am, but he won’t look at me. I hear Dean begging Dad to not do it, to stop, but I’m not sure what’s happening since I can’t look. When Dad finally turns to me all I cansee is those same fucking yellow eyes I see in my other dreams._

_*** I’m not sure why the people in my dreams have yellow eyes. I’ve looked it up and can’t find anything. Everything I read says that stress in life can cause dreams to get worse and make you have more of them. Since this time of year sucks balls worse than any other time, that might be the reason. Dad pretty much stays drunk this week, and Dean takes off a lot more. When I woke up from that dream, nobody was home. My head was fucking pounding, so I didn’t write this down till now. Probably forgot some of it. Can’t think when I get these. I never seem to remember the actual dreams more than a day or two anymore. Dean finally came home at some point and got me some aspirin. Least he didn’t tease me because I was crying from my head hurting. If he hadn’t been so drunk he probably would have felt bad I was alone when it happened. But such is my fucking life._

_This isn’t fucking helping. Just what I already know. I have bad dreams. Waste of my fucking time._

That was the last entry in the dream log. But even if there were more entries, there was no way Sam could read them. His entire body was shaking and there were actually tears running down his face. If he’d known or had any idea that his visions had actually started when he was a child…. He still didn’t remember the dreams he’d had, but the fact that he’d actually written them down was proof that he’d had them. Sam knew that he’d had migraines periodically, but he’d never attributed them to dreams. Apparently no one else had, either. And the fact that they got worse when November 2 was coming up had a lotmore meaningthen his life ‘sucking balls’ or Dad and Dean disappearing.

“Fucking yellow eyes. I was dreaming about that son of a bitch when I was a kid.” The full implication hit him and he stood. Furious, he caught one of the cars Dean had beaten with the crow bar out of the corner of his eyes. Seemed like a good idea to him, too. One kick dented the door, another took out the one window Dean had missed. It felt like a good start, but it wasn’t enough. A few more kicks into the steel and Sam felt his tears finally slowing. His breath was coming in pants, but he still needed more. Before stopping to think about the end results his fist slammed through the window of a small car. The pain registered in some part of Sam’s mind and it seemed to slow down the thoughts that were flying through hismind. Another window, this time leaving blood on the steel door. Dean hadn’t left much glass in the immediate vicinity, so Sam moved down a row to more cars. A few more windows, a few more dents and he finally felt his head beginning to clear.

“Son-“ A door dented under his fist.

“Of-“ A window shattered.

“A Fucking bitch!” Another window followed by a round house kick to the offending door holding it.

Suddenly he was grabbed from behind and shoved into another car. “What the fuck, Sam?!”

“Back off, Dean!” Panting, Sam tried to pull away. “You don’t even want to fucking know.”

“No, I probably don’t, but a few more windows and I won’t be able to stitch you up.” The older brother pointed to the cut and bleeding arms on his younger brother. “You’re gonna pass out from blood loss, dumbass.”

“Good.” Sam pulled his fist back again, aiming for the window he was currently leaning against, but Dean was faster.

Gripping Sam’s arm, Dean spun him around he tried to hold him still.

“Let go of me!”

“So you can do more damage? Don’t think so, kiddo.” Sam continued to struggle, until Dean finally wrenched his arms up behind his back and pinned him. “Okay, Sam. Talk to me. What the fuck?”

The quiet voice in his ear finally reached him. Still panting, Sam shook his head. “Made your point, Dean. Last thing you want to do is talk.”

“No, the last thing I want to do is take you to ER. Which I’m going to have to do if you don’t stop.” Feeling Sam tense, Dean jerked him closer. “Enough, Sam. Stop.”

When Sam’s shoulders dropped and his head fell forward, Dean knew it was over for the moment. He released his brother and stepped back, ready to grab him again if the younger man started again.

Instead, Sam dropped to his knees.

  
  
This is continued in another prompt  
  
[Stay](http://jasmineisland.livejournal.com/4177.html)


End file.
